


His Fairy Bride

by fightlikeagirl



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Dubious Consent, M/M, Magical Drugs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-25
Updated: 2013-02-25
Packaged: 2017-12-03 15:10:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,080
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/699584
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fightlikeagirl/pseuds/fightlikeagirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wherein Sam is kidnapped by fairies, and help comes from an unexpected source.</p>
            </blockquote>





	His Fairy Bride

He'd fought them at first, had struggled for all he was worth, but there had just been so many of them (and neither of them had known what they were dealing with until now, when it was too late). And one had pressed in close, bright red paint on his lips, fingers on Sam's jaw, and kissed him, hard, and his limbs had gone heavy, his vision drifted out of focus. 

He knows what they are now, knows what's going on. Fairies, they'd been dealing with fairies, and he knows somewhere that that's _bad_ , that he's completely fucked, but somehow, he feels like everyone's okay. Someone presses his wrists together, and someone else binds them together with twine, weaving it into intricate knots that go halfway up his forearms. He feels like maybe this should bother him, but then he remembers that everything is going to be fine, now, and he relaxes and lets himself be pushed and pulled through dozens of arms.

Sam cranes his neck, trying to get a good look around. He's underground, he thinks, the ground beneath his feet feels like bare earth, and the walls look to be made of sod, covered in green things. There are people everywhere, like some kind of wild celebration, almost human, but not quite. He catches glimpses of cat-like eyes everywhere he looks, and there's something _strange_ about their faces, something animal about them.

A pair of hands find his waist, whirl him around, and he's never been good at dancing even without his hands tied. They laugh, and he laughs with them, his clumsiness suddenly hilarious. He loses his balance more than once, but there's always someone there to steady him and keep the rhythm of the dance going. It's alright, everything is alright for the first time in a very long time.

Still, he's relieved when he's led off the dance floor, pushed down into someone's lap. There's fairies on all sides of him, crowding in, each one eyeing him like he's some kind of rare treasure. They look positively enchanted by Sam, and he smiles at them, rather pleased to be at the center of attention, to have so many people looking at him like he's beautiful, not an abomination.

A man with sharp, angular features climbs into his lap, slides a thumb in between his lips to tug his mouth open and presses fresh raspberries into his mouth, the red juice from them staining his fingertips red. They're sweet and ripe, a hint of sharpness to them, and he opens his mouth obediently to let the man feed him more. His hands are slight and delicate, his skin is pale and soft. And then there's a woman pressing against his side, her short hair dark and sticking up at odd angles; she catches his chin and tips it back, presses a glass of something dark and red against his lips, gives him a sharp grin when he opens his lips and drinks. It burns going down, and the taste is unfamiliar and oaky, but it's good, leaves him feeling so _right_ , and he drinks the whole glass.

Someone's lips are against his throat, teeth scraping against his pulse, and he squirms and smiles. There are hands all over him, on his thighs, against his back, at his waist, slipping up under his shirt. He squirms again, laughter bubbling up out of his throat as small, clever fingers press at sensitive patches of skin, find ticklish spots.

Sam opens his mouth to receive more kisses, some light and delicate, lips pressing just gently against his before pulling away, some hard and wild, tongues licking into his mouth, sucking on his lower lip. He presses back each time, kisses them back, and the fairies find this absolutely delightful. He's pulled from lap to lap, and he's so, so glad to be able to please someone for once. He thinks he glimpses someone familiar, blonde hair, blue eyes that feel like they're piercing right through him, a sympathetic smile, but he shakes his head, and it's gone.

Then someone's hands find his hair, and they abandon his mouth in favor of playing with his hair. Some of them are content with just carding their fingers through it, but some of them busy themselves weaving little braids into it, adding moss and leaves and feathers. It's pleasant, nice, leaves him feeling sleepy and cared-about. He stifles a yawn, but his eyes are starting to flutter closed. And it's with the feeling of fingers in his hair that Sam falls asleep.

—

He wakes, maybe hours later, maybe minutes. His head is pillowed on someone's lap and there are hands in his hair again, and for a moment, he thinks he hasn't moved, that he's still surrounded by fairies, but when he blinks and glances around, he can see that he's lying on a bed, that he's in what looks like a lavishly decorated bedroom.

"I can't take my eyes off you for five minutes without you getting yourself kidnapped by fairies, can I?" The voice is low and amused, and it's familiar, but his head is still fuzzy, and it takes him a moment to place it.

"Lucifer," Sam breathes, and he _knows_ this is a bad thing, but he's so comfortable like this, and things are fine, aren't they?

"They've made a mess of your hair," Lucifer observes, and Sam realizes his hands aren't just mindlessly roaming through his hair, they're undoing the braids, plucking out the leaves, combing through the knots. He hadn't minded them, is having a hard time minding anything, but it feels nice, and so he isn't going to protest.

"What," Sam starts, but his tongue is thick and heavy, and he has to take a moment to gather his thoughts before beginning again. "What're you doin' here?"

"I heard you were here, and I thought I'd join the party," Lucifer says. "I'm always well-received down here. Fairies like bright things, beautiful things, and I _am_ the Morningstar. And I like them. They're a pleasant change from the company of demons."

Sam hums in assent and closes his eyes.

"They're just enraptured with you, Sam," Lucifer tells him, sounding wryly amused. "I don't know that I've ever seen them this delighted with a new toy. They'd quite like to keep you here with them forever."

Sam mumbles something, like he wouldn't mind that, and Lucifer chuckles. "So accommodating. Would that you'd be so willing to please me."

And Sam frowns, because that isn't right, he doesn't want to displease Lucifer. He shifts out of Lucifer's hands and sits up, scoots closer with difficulty (his hands are still caught and tied in front of him, and Lucifer reaches out to steady him). "I do," he says, "I do want to please you." He doesn't want to be difficult, not with this beautiful, shining creature, and how is it that he'd never noticed how lovely Lucifer was? He hadn't wanted to upset Dean, was all, he'd done so much to upset Dean.

Lucifer tilts his head and gives him a considering look. "I don't suppose you're ready to say 'yes' to me?"

And the word is on the tip of his tongue, fighting to escape when he bites them back. His heart twists, because Lucifer is so beautiful and Sam just wants to do what he asks, but he _can't_ , he just can't. He shakes his head and looks away, his gut clenching, but Lucifer raises a hand to brush against his face, his touch gentle and forgiving.

"That's alright," he says. "Probably for the best, anyway. You're under so much magical influence, it wouldn't really be informed consent, would it? You'd just end up resenting me for it. And I don't want that."

Sam smiles, and he's so relieved that Lucifer isn't angry with him for not giving him what he wants. "Is that all you want from me? My body?" He doesn't mean it as an accusation, just a question. He isn't sure what Lucifer's doing here, if it's not to demand a 'yes' from him.

"Of course not," Lucifer says, brow furrowing. He reaches out to pull Sam in close, and he goes willingly, scootching forward so his knees straddle Lucifer's hips. His hand strokes down Sam's back, large and warm, making him shiver and sigh contentedly.

They watch each other for a moment, and Sam takes the time to study Lucifer's face. He knows that it's only borrowed, that it belongs to a man called Nick, but Lucifer seems to fit it so well. His eyes are deep-set and so blue, filled with an endless curiosity, and Sam thinks he can see the archangel who Fell out of love in them. His chin is covered in stubble, like he'd been so busy starting the Apocalypse he'd forgotten to shave, and Sam wonders if it itches, wonders if Lucifer can feel it at all. He doesn't know what it's like for an angel to be in a vessel, if it's just like wearing a set of uncomfortable clothes, or if he conforms fully to the flesh he's in, if he can feel every touch, every nerve ending.

"How much can you feel, like that?" Sam asks, recklessly, because he understands curiosity, too.

Lucifer blinks at him, and the corners of his mouth curl up. "Everything," he says. "This isn't just a temporary house, a suit. I've fit myself into every inch of this body. I'm not a puppet master. This body is mine."

Sam nods, and then, because the reckless urges aren't leaving him, asks, "Can I kiss you?"

Lucifer looks utterly taken aback, and Sam doesn't wait for a response before he leans in and fits his mouth against Lucifer's. Lucifer is briefly completely and totally still, before he softens and presses back. He lets Sam keep control of the kiss, seems curious but inexperienced, and he opens his mouth to let Sam's tongue slip inside. It's awkward and messy, the angle difficult, and Sam's bound wrists keep getting in the way, but when he pulls back he's pleased to see Lucifer's lips are red and parted slightly, that he looks more startled and disheveled than Sam's ever seen him.

Sam makes a small, considering noise. "I think I might be yours," he says, and there's a little voice at the back of his head telling him that this is _bad_ , he oughtn't be thinking like this, but everything is still okay, and so he squashes the little voice.

"I'm glad to hear it," Lucifer says, still looking faintly surprised.

"Can I—" Sam says, and bites his lip. He plucks at Lucifer's shirt, looking unsure. "I want—I want to feel your skin against mine." His cheeks flush, and he feels foolish, but Lucifer's shrugging out of his overshirt, letting Sam run his hands down his arms before pulling his t-shirt up and over his head.

He isn't sure why he finds Lucifer so beautiful, knows that this is only a vessel, but still. He doesn't know whether the body is beautiful because Lucifer is in it, or if Lucifer is in it because it's beautiful. There's awe in his face, and he leans down to kiss Lucifer again.

"May I?" Lucifer asks, raising a hand to Sam's chest, and Sam isn't sure what he means, but nods anyway, and Lucifer brushes his fingers down his t-shirt and then his chest is bare, his shirt falling to the ground beside him. 

"Perfect," he breathes, and then Sam's fingers are at the button on his jeans, struggling to get it apart with bound wrists. Lucifer laughs and threads his fingers through Sam's, helps him undo it before pulling down his zipper, tugging the jeans down Sam's hips along with his boxers and dropping them with his shirt. "Scoot up a bit," he adds, and then he's undoing his own jeans, and Sam can hardly wait for him to get them down his hips before he's pressing himself against Lucifer, his lips against Lucifer's neck.

Lucifer's hands find his hair again, and he sighs into Lucifer's skin. "'M not supposed to be doing this," he murmurs.

"But it's nice while it lasts," Lucifer tells him. "I'd like to keep you down here forever. But I think we'd both be missed above ground. And you'd come to resent it eventually." His hand traces down the curve of Sam's spine, cups his rear.

And it's not—not sexual, exactly. Or it is, and it isn't, both at once, it's an overwhelming need to feel Lucifer's heartbeat beneath his fingers, to feel the way his skin hums and responds to Sam's. The sense that he _belongs_ with someone, that he's been fighting since the first time Lucifer had walked through his dreams (and why? he wonders, why would he fight something like _this_ ). The hands drift up his sides, over his chest, tweak his nipples.

"I want you to be happy, Sam," Lucifer says, stroking a hand down his neck, smiling when Sam purrs contentedly. "I'd steal you away, make you my fairy bride, if I thought it would bring you happiness. But more than that, I want you to be _free_." He pushes Sam up gently until he's sitting up, takes his wrists and so slowly, so carefully, undoes the twine binding them together.

As soon as his hands are free, Sam lifts them to Lucifer's face, cups his jaw, strokes over his cheekbones. He smooths Lucifer's hair back from his forehead, and he's pleased by the way Lucifer shuts his eyes, sighing deeply.

"That's all I've ever wanted," he says, eyes still closed. Sam runs his fingers through Lucifer's hair, and thinks he likes the way Lucifer's short hair sticks up at odd angles. "I just want to be free. And that's what I want for you, too. All of the things tying you down, I'll cut them away one by one, until you know true freedom. All your life, you've been chained down, tied up; fed so many lies by the ones you called family, but I won't stand for it anymore."

His words make sense, and they don't, twisting up in Sam's head until he isn't sure which way is up, isn't sure whether it's Lucifer trying to convince him or him trying to convince Lucifer. All he knows is that Lucifer is solid and warm and inviting beneath him, and he leans down until he's breathing against Lucifer's mouth, captures his lips in another kiss.

"Everything is backwards," Sam murmurs against Lucifer's cheek, and Lucifer chuckles. Sam frowns. "Don't laugh."

"I can't help finding you amusing."

Sam huffs, but then the hands are back against his neck, stroking and massaging, trailing down his back in light touches that make him shudder. And again, when there are hot fingers sliding in between his cheeks, tracing around the tight ring of muscle before pressing in, curiously, experimentally. Like Lucifer's just exploring, trying to find out where best to touch him to make him tremble and sigh. And Sam—well, he doesn't exactly seem to have any inhibitions at the moment. He doesn't hold back, pushes back against Lucifer's fingers, lets out a little moan.

"Is that good?" Lucifer asks him, and Sam nods. "I want to know everything about your body, Sam, I want to know just where to touch you to bring you to your knees." He's added a second finger, spreading inside him, gentle and caring and patient. Sam squirms in his lap, and he's pleased to note that for all Lucifer's calm, he's not unaffected.

"What is this?" Sam asks, voice a hushed whisper. "What are you doing to me?"

"I'm not seducing you." Lucifer's voice is smooth and even. "This isn't seduction. This is simply...desire. I want you. You want me. There's no need to be ashamed of it, Sam." And again, he's terribly convincing, and Sam wants nothing more than to sink into the velvety-dark tones of his voice. "Tell me what you want."

"More," Sam says, "please, keep touching me." He's distantly aware of how needy he sounds, but he can't bring himself to care, just rocks his hips forward against Lucifer's. "Like that," and his breath is starting to come short unevenly. "Oh, _oh_." 

Lucifer's hand wraps around his cock, pumping the length of it, cradling his balls. He feels overstimulated and overwhelmed, thinks he's never been this sensitive to another's touch before. Loses himself to the sensation of it, doesn't think _this is wrong, dangerous_ , just lets go of everything but the feeling of Lucifer's hands on him. And it's still not quite sex, because he isn't sure Lucifer even conceives of sex the way he does, it's just physical intimacy, their bodies responding to each other in away he doesn't think either one of them can help.

He thrusts up into Lucifer's hand, rolls his hips against Lucifer's. Feels rewarded when the archangel beneath him lets out a deep, sighing groan, bucks up against him. Sam kisses him gently, lets his hands drift over his shoulderblades. Lucifer's hands clutch at his hips and draw him into a rhythm, their bodies moving together and with each other, contact and delicious friction. They come together, spilling hot and wet between them, and Sam can't help but bask in the glory of this moment.

"You," Lucifer tells him once he's recovered his breath, his thumb pressed against Sam's lips, "are a remarkable creature."

Sam mutters something incoherent against his neck, stretches and sighs. "Could stay like this," he murmurs, and yawns. "'S comfortable."

Lucifer's voice is wistful. "I won't deny that I'm tempted." He presses a kiss into Sam's hair. "I'll make arrangements with the fairies; they won't stop me when I return you to your brother. I'd very much like to hold onto you, but I'm going to set you free because I love you. I'm confident you'll find your way back to me."

He brushes his fingers against Sam's forehead, and Sam feels himself drifting away, losing his anchors. He makes a soft noise of protest, but he's already falling.

—

Sam awakes on a park bench. He's fully dressed again, but he's shivering, and his head is pounding. His cellphone is gone, but he's got a few quarters in his pocket, and he finds a payphone to call Dean.

He keeps the details of his escape to himself. He doesn't think Dean would want to know.


End file.
